Wednesday, June 30, 2010

time to take eating disorders more seriously

Recently, I watched the Nova episode about eating disorders. I'd seen it a few times before, but since I find comfort in shows and documentaries about EDs I didn't mind seeing it again. What I discovered this time around is that I have big problems with some of the straight up bull shit presented as fact.

First, let's talk about the doctors and treatment "experts" interviewed. So many people have made careers out of studying eating disorders. For example, Dr. Kaye has been making a living tossing around ideas about ways to treat EDs since the 1980s. He has yet to figure anything out that has true value to the people suffering from this mental illness.

It seems that eating disorders are classified as mental illnesses when it comes to billing the insurance companies or when docs apply for research monies; however, when it comes down to it we're told that we're responsible for creating this and that to recover we have to want to get better. We're told that we won't relapse if we really want recovery. Is this what other people with mental illnesses are told?

To the paranoid schizophrenic do the docs say, "Just tell those voices to be quiet. That's from a bad part of you and you have to tell it to go away." Do they have little rituals where they come up with drawings that symbolize their mental illness then burn them to make the illness go away? Do they tell paranoid schizophrenics to name their schizophrenia?

Modern day treatment of eating disorders tends to be belittling, ineffective and offers little more than trite or cliched solutions. Most of the time, treatment does more harm than good. It's archaic and wildly irresponsible.

I can't help but to think of Polly Williams, who was featured in the documentary, Thin. She committed suicide a couple years after her treatment in Florida at Renfrew. Why? Did she relapse? Did she not want recovery? According to the bull shit we learn in treatment facilities, she just didn't want it badly enough.

What a load of crap. Treatment facilities need to stop worrying about their finances and start fessing up to the truth. The truth is they don't know what they're doing. Sure, they can get your loved one to eat, maybe. They can help them stabilize their weight. They can even provide a safe place to talk about problems, but can they really offer cures? I don't think so.

Maybe Polly truly believed that she was responsible for creating her mental illness, that she had to eliminate part of herself in order to get well. Maybe she felt like the ultimate failure when she was unable to delete the thoughts which led her toward destructive behaviors. Maybe she realized she was no match for a psychiatric disorder. Did she believe her treatment team when they said, "You just have to want it."

I'd much rather have a treatment team tell me that they have no clue what they're doing and that they'll do their best to help me, than have a team that twists the truth in order to sell me a stay at their facility. Buyer beware of the philosophy which states that we made this illness what it is and therefore must fix it within ourselves. Is that what they're telling psychopaths these days, too?

Look, the number of deaths as a result of eating disorders is too high to take lightly; yet it seems like the mental health community treats EDs as though the afflicted has self indulgent, vanity problems. These are serious, life threatening mental illnesses that need to be perceived and treated as such.

I have so many more thoughts about treatment and "recovery." I'll expand on this in the near future.

Sunday, June 27, 2010

not for the weak

This video, the first in a series of five, may be disturbing to some. The subject matter is heroin addiction, shown from the perspectives of both the addict and his family. This video diary is one of the best accounts of heroin addiction I've ever seen.

Friday, June 25, 2010

as fat as ever

Why is it that no matter what I weigh, I feel that I have the same amount of excess flesh? Humor me. Cause I know I'm sick in the head. I don't understand how that works though. Where is the disconnect between mind and body? And how can I reconnect them?

There was a moment in May when I felt small and it felt so fucking good. My weight hasn't changed, so why do I feel so damn large? My clothes fit the same way; my muscles look the same way, but I feel awful.

My insanity urges me to bust out the razor blade I keep hidden under a jewelry box on my dresser; to slice into my forearms with it; to throw up anything I eat; to find some meth; to fast; to add a few hundred calories to my food log just to be sure. My friggin insanity is causing such turmoil in my thoughts right now. It is relentless.

I would love to have a zen mind. Instead I'll look to other ED freaks (like me) for support online. The beautiful thing is that I'll find it. Understanding and love is a couple tweets or an email away.

Real life doesn't offer that. For support in real life, I'd have to call a therapist or go to a cheezy group sesh. In real life, I face my ED alone. All the feelings of hugeness that I'm experiencing would be solely mine.

I'm so thankful for the ED women and men I've encountered online. If nothing else, I know I have people out there that I can lean on, who can honestly empathize with what I go through.

I may feel fat as hell today, but I'm also feeling quite grateful. Thanks to all of you. :)

Thursday, June 24, 2010

But, my routine!!!

Right now, I'm trying so hard to keep myself together, but I swear I'm about to fall out all over the place. I suppose the main problem is my attachment to the need to control my environment, the internal and the external.

Today started poorly with a call at 6 a.m. about the death of a family friend. I had fallen asleep about an hour prior to the call. My attempts to sleep after said call were in vain. My children were fighting and being general pains in the ass of me.

Said ass received no workout today. Let it be known that I don't often "call off" a day of working out. Injury and illness, such as puking my guts out due to a bacteria, are the only things that will prevent me from doing what I love, and I do it for two to three hours. I've been like that my whole life, an athlete. You know?

Of course, this act of inertia has left my mind in dire straits. It's created a huge rent in the fabric of my pseudo-sanity. I feel enormous. It doesn't help that it's 10 p.m. and 82 degrees outside. Inside my house, it's 89 degrees. I'm bloated as a...ah...um, as a person with COPD who can't rid their body of fluids due to a weak heart?

Ok. Perhaps that's exaggerating, but I feel awful. My rings are tight on my fingers. So much so that I cannot get them off. (Total. Panic.) The one thousand calories worth of food that I ate throughout the day sits in my stomach begging to be purged. It's one of those days where I feel certain I will eventually barf, just to feel empty.

Everything is out of control because I didn't start the day as I normally do. I hate it. And I love it. I guess I hate what happens to me when my neuroses become painfully obvious to me. 

so long and thanks (PAO) wordpress

Man. I just didn't care for the interface. And since PAO seems to have things to sort out, I was afraid my tiny pro ana blog would just be gone one day.

So, I'm at blogger now. It's a blogging platform I'm familiar with and I think it'll suit my layout needs better. But whatever. We'll see what happens.


Monday, June 21, 2010

to work or not to work

I so don't know what the fuck I'm doing lately. My avoidance of reality is going to blow up on me. I can make it three more months on my savings and then what? Something a lot of people don't realize is how hard it is to come up from under. I'll attempt to explain.

How often do you hear, from the media or in casual conversation, about the problem of social welfare benefits? You know, the programs that are in place to help people through hard times? It seems that these benefits are easy to receive and that the system is abused by lazy urbanites who refuse to work. (Because we all know how large you be livin on welfare.) These common and ignorant beliefs couldn't be further from the truth.

Truth. Single mothers make up the highest percentage of welfare recipients. Chances are, they're getting medical coverage for their children and food stamps, not cash as the media would have you believe. Now, I qualify for the medical and foodies. The moment I start working again, I can kiss that goodbye. If I earn $50 in one month, I'll no longer have medical and the food stamp amount will decrease significantly. Fifty dollars earned and I'm done. Also, when I return to work - and this is post traumatic injury mind you - I'll be paying for child care. The child care costs will eat one third of my pay. That's ONE THIRD OF MY PAY. To start working would demean my logic. I'm better off staying unemployed. A quick calculation of the numbers proves that point.

Think about it if you want to. I'm not going out of my way to explain the personal and social impact of this, but I will ask the questions:  Why would a system be set up that way? Why make it impossible for people to help themselves? Who benefits from such failures? And why have I chosen to challenge our culture this way?

I didn't have to choose poverty; however, my conscience prevents me from pursuing financial and material gain. I've said that a million times. What did wealth get my parents? They're old, lost and vacant, searching for meaning like teenage intellectuals.

I'm so torn. I seriously don't know what to do anymore. Then, there's this fecking ED in the background, sometimes in the foreground, and it's not helping my concentration or my decision making prowess. I am not a believer in fate, nor do I have faith in anything, except chaos. It's not like I'm going to pray my way out of this or hope for something. I may as well be making a 11:11 wish; it's the same damn thing.

FFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKK.

Saturday, June 19, 2010

I'm stuck

I neither want to gain weight, nor do I have the will to lose more right now. It's June 20th. My plan was to be 90 by the end of the month. Obviously, I can do it, but will I? And what prevents me from getting to the goal I've set for myself?

I've been puking quite a bit lately, which for me is a couple times in a week. Sometimes there's a "binge" and sometimes not. Though I doubt I start doing it all the time, I do fear it. Bulimia is one of the most frightening mental illnesses. If I keep going like this, I'll be bulimic in a matter of weeks. No thank you. I'd rather deal with whatever issue is clawing at me.

I wish I could explain what I'm doing because I don't really know. I get in the way of my understanding. Can it really have so much to do with anxiety and my interpersonal relationships? There's so much I don't know how to do anymore. My relationship with my children has been better than it is now. I can say the same for my friendships and as for the guy I like, well...I need to let that go. (even though we had the best time last weekend)

I've been feeling like my friends are starting to blow me off because I never make it to the things I'm invited to. I need to let them know about my anxiety and how much it means to me to get invites. I need to ask for help to get out of the house. And I need to ask for help to ditch these two pounds. What did I do in April and why haven't I the strength to do it again?

All I want to do is eat, but fullness is awful, so I end up not keeping it down. My body isn't so keen on barfing anymore. Each time I do it I'm afraid and wonder if I'll end up like the chick in that famous picture (all dead by the toilet) or like Brittany Murphy (dead with puke all over the bathroom). Bulimia is evil. I don't want to go this way.

Not that I can never puke, just not a couple to a few times a week. My waist would go from 23" to 25" in no time. No bulimia. No. No. No.

So if anyone wants to encourage me to lose two pounds, great. We can keep each other on track. D - where are you?

xo

Friday, June 18, 2010

4:09 am

And I'm still awake. This is my usual routine. Sometimes I try to go to bed earlier. You know, give it a go. When I do manage to fall asleep, it's only for a short time. Nearly every night, I'm just waiting for it to be over; waiting for the sun to rise with it's guarantee of safety.

I suppose that it's a PTSD thing since fear is at the base of the behavior. Not surprisingly my behavior has worsened since my dog died. Everyone was afraid of him, unless they knew him of course. For so long he protected me and the children. Now, my paranoia has increased. A lot.

For the past three nights someone has left my gate open. I'm almost certain that it's my stalker. God I hate that creepy dude. Fuck! Why are so many men so god damned smarmy? Have they no self respect?

I hate being stared at, noticed, smiled at, pursued. Hate it. My kids notice it even more than I do. I've learned to put on blinders to a certain extent. I don't acknowledge people on purpose, don't make eye contact. I don't wear revealing clothes, don't flaunt myself. I'M NOT TRYING TO ENCOURAGE ANYONE TO TAKE AN INTEREST IN ME or FOLLOW ME AROUND or SPY ON ME or BREAK INTO MY HOUSE WHEN I'M NOT HERE!

It's so fucked up. Yesterday, my son flipped off a guy that was staring at me. Because I'm outspoken on such matters, he knows that it bothers me. If I'm going to be honest here I have to say that my kids knew about the stalking. For their own safety they needed to know what was happening. Essentially then, when I was stalked they too were stalked. My fear and struggle for empowerment was theirs to bear witness to, to learn from.

In a way, this is no different than being afraid of the dark. The threat isn't necessarily real. Every time I return from an outing I check the house, discreetly. Like I'll take clean laundry to the children's rooms, attend to more laundry in the basement and so on. I don't want the kids to pick up on the fact that I'm "looking under the beds."  I don't want them to have my fears. Simultaneously, I don't want them to be daft and unaware. I just don't want them to get hurt.

I'm so tired and the sun won't peek out yet. My chest (heart) hurts, like a slight burning ache. All I can think is 'please let us be safe, please let us be safe.'  Thinking like a victim.

Man, this post is all over the place. Oh well.

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

tear jerker

This is a somewhat intense documentary. For me, it really highlighted the insidious nature of this mental illness. I'm posting it here and I'll put it on the page with ED related films. Feel free to share your thoughts about it. I'd love to discuss. :)


Tuesday, June 15, 2010

that healthy feeling

Wow. What some decent nutrition will do for the mind, body and soul. I'm on my fifth day of resetting my metabolism and I feel great, well great by my standards. I've been taking in between 1100 and 1300 calories a day. Of course I work out, so net calories is 800 or 900 I suppose, but I don't do the net calorie song and dance. Intake is intake. I don't ever count on burning calories as a way to gauge it. Know what I mean?

The benefits of increased nutrition:  I have zero anxiety; I'm exploding with energy; I can concentrate; I have no headaches; no muscle fatigue; I can sleep; and I shit. I'm sure there are more, but the list is kind of boring. Oh! Way important! I'm not so flipping depressed. The down side is that I feel a bit like a stuffed pig, like I'm never empty, never hungry.

I don't know how long I'll keep this up. Considering the fact that I really want to shed only two more pounds (I say that now...leave my denial alone!) I think I should keep this up for a few more days. I'm terrified of gaining though. I wonder if I should just maintain my weight at 92 pounds for another month. It's not like it's going to change how I look that dramatically. I just think it will.

When I focus on it, I start to get anxious. What I need to do is work on trying to be a bit comfortable in my skin. Like, I don't want anyone telling me I look bad. If my chest bones, sternum and ribs, stick out much more I'm afraid people will notice. Well, honestly, I'm afraid one person will notice and that's not acceptable. All he needs to know is that I'm athletic. Getting a wee bit thinner should be alright.

That's it! Since I got the go ahead to start running again, it'll make sense that my body fat decreases ever so slightly, especially during the Summer. Everything fits.

I'm still broke as fuck. My savings is dwindling to nil and the children's father is still a slacker on child support payments, but what am I going to do? Obviously I'll look for work, but who knows what I'll end up with. I can't do anything career related and frankly, I don't want to. I suppose it's just a great big wait and see.

In the meantime, I'll enjoy feeling better, stronger. And with the weather being what it is, I'm backing away from internet ED involvement. I won't be posting as much, but I will every couple days or so. It's nice to have an outlet for random ED stuff.

Cheers to nutrition.

Saturday, June 12, 2010

boring ED

I'm totally bored with all online things that are eating disorder related right now. How many fat tards are out there playing "ana" online? Christ. Sometimes I picture what some of these chicks might look like and wonder why, exactly, so much time is spent in online ADD land? Go fucking exercise or talk to an actual person or something. I'm sure I have my online phases, but come on. Don't they have shit to do? Or do mom and dad do everyfuckingthing? Weak ass, spoiled, nutso kids.

I'm just grumpy cause I'm doing metabolism reset days. It's never enjoyable, but at least I know what the fuck I'm doing. I have a working brain, unlike so many people I encounter online. Fucking tards. Here, let me post some tips for you since you can't figure it out for yourself. WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?

I just haven't one little nice thing to say about anyone, so I'll stop this now.

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

re-control

Fuck gabapentin as a useful tool for anxiety. That stuff makes me an out of control freak. It gives me headaches and makes me want to sleep. It depresses me and alone, IT DOESN'T ADDRESS ANXIETY. Why don't docs just prescribe the good ol tried and true anxiety meds? A little lorazepam never hurt. WTF!

Rather than use what's been proven to be a reliable anxiety medication, some of these stupid fucks are so blinded by big pharma that they'll prescribe whatever the latest pharmaceutical sponsored study is pushing as an effective treatment. Why would you prescribe an SSRI for anxiety? Think about it. SSRIs must be taken daily and often take four to six weeks to "take effect." Anxiety is a symptom fluctuates and doesn't need to be treated with constant intake of medicine. Hell-oh?

I hate doctors that don't know how to think for themselves, that are so seduced by the business aspect of medical care that they can no longer give legitimate treatment. They are salespeople, not doctors. Grrr, but I still need help with meds for anxiety. So I need one of those salespeople to write for me. That's why I've got to follow up and make calls to psychiatrists, the quacks.

Shit, I'm freaking out. I can not proceed with my day like this. To think, I have so much to do! OMFG.

Anyways, I'm fasting for another 35 hours. I'm 13 hours into it. I just want to be empty; empty of myself, empty of my problems, empty of my anxiety. What the fuck ever. I'm so full of shit. heheh...guess that's why I want to be empty.

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

tid bits o'fun

  • I will never function normally in this society.
  • I panic about nothing all the time. Thank you rapist, molester, abuser and a handful of male fuck wads for introducing me to hell.
  • I don't go to bed until I hear the birds singing. That way I know I've survived the night.
  • I wish someone would break into my house again just so I could fuck them up and bloody my Louisville Slugger.
  • I'll never let anyone get close to me again.
  • I'm in love, but I will never admit it because I refuse to hurt him.
  • The thought of nourishing my body and sustaining my life gives me nausea.
  • I have now failed at everything, except being crazy.
  • I wonder every day about the pains surrounding my heart and how much more it can take.
  • I just want to be left alone to waste myself away.
  • I want to be rescued, too.
  • I'm tired of mentally overcompensating for symptoms of ptsd. I can't do it anymore.
  • I have a really high IQ but have flushed my capacity for intelligence down the toilet.
  • I have quit everything I've begun, literally everything.
  • I spend most of my time imagining I'm somewhere else.

Saturday, June 5, 2010

going under

If there exists a rubicon in my little world of insanity, I believe I've crossed it. And although I think psychiatry is quackery for the most part, I want to talk to a head doc. I seriously don't understand the intense and non-stop physical manifestation of this anxiety. There must be an explanation for it.

Of course there is the issue of food. Fucking food. Nauseating me, making me ill, and I just want to run. My chest aches a lot of the time. It's hard to know if it's from anxiety or if I've finally done enough damage. For the sake of the kids I've been taking vitamins, especially calcium and potassium. When the balance isn't right with those, cells can't function.

I don't really want to die, you know? It's just so easy to cross the line. Maybe it's not that a line is crossed, but that awareness is reached or denial shattered. I can momentarily admit that I have a mental illness. Eating disorders really are capricious and deadly. They make no sense.

I long to see the bigger picture. What purpose does it serve society to have so many women using their intelligence and determination for the sole purpose of being thin? Why are we so sick? I mean, isn't it enough to live in a society that treats women like shit? Must we kick our own asses or do we just internalize the messages we receive about women?

Ok. Fine. I'm scared. Alright? I wish I could hang on to my behaviors and not get too small, not get unhealthy. At the same time, I'm comfortable with it. I know this. And I feel so stupid for not letting myself return to this brilliant escape sooner. It's all consuming. Nothing matters. It's giving me what my past drug addictions gave me, an out. Why did I wait so long to let it pull me under again? It seems so silly to have ridden the surface of my disordered behaviors toward food for as long as I did.

Pull me down and down and down. Return me to the place where I belong; floating toward the bottom.

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

fade away

I've just about had enough of this stupid, demeaning life. This place isn't for me. Somehow I got stuck on this planet and I really want to go now. (NO I'm not suicidal; I'm expressing myself. It's therapeutic.)

Tonight, during a wicked storm, I sat on the stairs just outside my bedroom. My chest felt like it was being ripped apart. The pain I carry within me day to day is unbearable. And I thought, how appropriate that I let myself go hungry in order to cope. Maybe it's time that I go through with it. I mean, really let my body starve past a point of recovery. I cried and cried.

It used to be that thinking of the love I have for my children was enough to pull me out of anything too unhealthy, but now it's not enough. They're older. They'd be alright. Regardless, they'll be hurt by me. I'm going to fuck it all up anyway.

I'm so, so tired. I can't pick myself up anymore, can't save myself from harm either. No matter what, I'm going to get hurt. Since that's the case, I'll inflict my own pain by isolating myself and neglecting myself. If I were to die, it wouldn't even be considered suicide so there would be no stigma for the kids to deal with...other than being motherless.

I don't belong on this cruel planet. I don't belong in a lowly world where people kowtow to the automobile and the culture that surrounds it - which is all of US culture. I don't belong in a place where one in four women is raped. I don't deserve to live in a state of hypervigilance. I shouldn't...nevermind.

Fuck. I've never been this lost in all my life. Or if I was, at least I was backpacking all over Europe and the US looking for alternatives, for happiness, for escape. I don't do anything anymore. I'm fucking stuck at home trying to raise two children on my own. Sometimes I wish I hadn't grown up with money. Maybe I wouldn't insist on being a stay at home mother.

Fuck. There is so much I think I'm above doing, things that go against my personal morality, like slaving away my time to acquire luxury, material possessions. At the same time, I'm not above dining with a bunch of homeless people, wearing used clothes or using food stamps to purchase groceries. I'm not above doing pro bono work or hanging out in the projects. I'm blathering. I apologize.

I'm fucked. I'm sick of the pain. I'm so, so tired from the constant hurting. I just want to fade away..........

near numbness

If someone were to ask me how much "medication" I've had today, I'd have to guess. The best thing is that it puts a stop on my pointless anxiety. Right now, I feel like I'm on vacation. I'm so relaxed and at ease. Wasted, I am not.

There's something perfect about combining gabapentin with a bit of benzos. I'm talking .25 alprazolam and 100mg gaba, small doses. It's working wonders though. I feel like I can be more rational since I'm not trying so hard to suppress the anxiety symptoms. I've been more productive in general and more patient with my children.

Sadly, the benzos are kick downs from other people. My doc won't prescribe them because she fears that they're highly addictive. Funny thing is that the gaba she prescribes gives me a buzz, not benzos. If I wanted to be wasted I'd take a bunch of the gaba. But whatever, other doctors give scripts with generous amounts of the drugs, so I'm not worried about having access.

Food wise, I'm doing five days of 500kcals or less. This is the second day. I'll probably ditch a half a pound from it; maybe a full pound. I'll see where my weight is and go from there when the five days are over. 90 is the limit.